


Outside Looking In

by krisbeh



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After Sunnydale, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I need him to be regular Giles, Post-season 7, Slow Burn, Smut, Varying Chapter Lengths, Work In Progress, because as cute as tiny Giles is, deviating from a lot of season 8 crap, eventually going to be some tasty stuff, idk - Freeform, some ASoIF, some GoT, the Giles we all love, various other characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisbeh/pseuds/krisbeh
Summary: Through a mishap with magic, Buffy and Giles end up in a world of kill or be killed, where old lineages fight for an iron throne made of swords.





	1. Fucking Magic, Man

“Willow can’t help you with this because…?” said Buffy, leaning onto the kitchen counter.

Giles turned stern eyes to her, his lips pressed to a thin line. “She’s not ready to take on a ritual of this nature. She would be calling on ancient forces she hasn’t spoken of since –“

She looked up at his pause, and her own features became stony. “Oh.”

“Yes, well,” said Giles, clearing his throat and moving his attention back to the task at hand. “The Pal’gorath shaman insisted that this take place by the new moon. The threat he described could tear the fabric of our world apart.”

“We’re a few musty books and a couple thousands miles away from being back in the old library,” she mused. Giles’ features softened at that.

“Yes, pity we had to blow it up,” he said.

Buffy snorted and crossed her arms, fidgeting and antsy in her boredom. “You would be all nostalgic about it,” she muttered.

Since they left the crater that was once Sunnydale, a lot of changes had evolved in the group. Xander became a leader, Willow embraced her magic, Dawn was still always in trouble –

“I’m still not over Dawn! Who sleeps with a thrice-wise?” said Buffy, tapping her toes on the lower cupboard door. It slapped the frame with a thunk and stilled, no match for her frustrations.

Giles chose not to respond. They’d had this conversation more times than he could recall, and he had no other say on the matter. Dawn knew the consequences and she’d done what she wanted. Thankfully a resolution had presented itself. Eventually.

“Buffy, focus please. We need to move to the ritual room.” He gently dabbed the paste he’d ground together into a small stone bowl and lifted it from the counter. He nodded as she filled her arms with the crystal phials. She padded behind him, barefoot, her pajama pants muffling her steps.

They quietly entered the ritual room – which was really just his study, converted with a temporary altar and a ring of runes carefully designed on a plastic sheet on the floor. The furniture had been moved to accommodate the small altar and ritual space, leaving it looking more like a former study turned storage room.

He lowered his knee, placing the bowl on the altar. Buffy’s eyes wandered the room as he set to lighting the funky home-made candles he’d made the day before.

 _Always so homey, no matter where he ends up_ , she thought. _He could make a reading nook on a deserted island if he had books with him_.

As much as she enjoyed the him-ness of his study, it sometimes took her down a rabbit-hole of memories that were painful in their simplicity. Memories before a lot of bad things happened, and before a lot of things were said that she could never take back. She realized she avoided his study, then.

 _Coward_ , she thought bitterly. That’s when she noticed a couple of books on the coffee table that looked entirely too new, and entirely not Giles-y enough, to warrant being in this sacred space.

“Alright, Buffy, those phials, if you please,” he said softly, drawing her attention back to him. She pivoted, opening her arms slightly so he could pick the phials in the order necessitated by the spell. He gently pulled the stopper from each phial and dripped its contents onto the paste, a prayer mumbled for each one. Soon the oils left the room heavy with a saccharine scent.

“Are we doing a ritual or making a perfume for Elizabeth Taylor?” she quipped, earning her a quick frown before he set the final phial onto the altar. “What, I can’t be witty in the _ritual room_?” she said, ignoring the deepening scowl he shot her way.

“It is a matter of some importance, Buffy,” he said, turning his attention back to the altar. _I would hope you of all people understand how delicate this can be_ , he added silently. He knew better than anyone how aware she was, but he couldn’t bring himself to force her levity away. She’d been through enough in her short life, his brave slayer.

“Yeah, yeah. So what else do you need me to do?” she said, sinking onto his coffee table just outside the boundary of the plastic sheet. “Do I have to chant anything?”

He carefully leaned away as he pushed himself to stand. “No chanting, I just need you to lend some presence to the spell. I don’t have a coven to, erhm –“

“You need Buffy to buff you up,” she said, grinning at him. He cleared his throat and his hand disappeared into his pocket. Though he ran his fingertips over his handkerchief, he kept it sheathed. She’d told him just last week she knew all about his diversions with his glasses.

“Yes, as you say.”

Buffy chuckled and crossed her legs, sitting like a yogi. She glanced down to the books by her hip, remembering with a start that she’d meant to tease him about them.

“Giles, I’m shocked. These books were published less than ten years ago! How can you live with the shame?” she said, pulling them into her lap.

“Keep calm and all that,” he replied drily, stepping around the altar to find the instructions he’d taken from the shaman.

“A Song of Ice and Fire. Hm. Sounds… musical.” She flipped the tome over and began reading the back cover. “People seem to love it, whatever it is.”

“Fantasy,” he muttered, mentally ticking off the tasks already complete for the ritual. The oils clung to his skin and the inside of his nose. He would have a dreadful headache when this was over, he could tell.

Buffy ran her fingers along the ridges of the embossed cardboard of the red cover. She was just starting to open it when she realized Giles was puttering around the altar with an air of renewed energy. She dropped the book on top of the pile and unfurled her legs, uncaring that her movement sent the stack of books balancing on the edge of the table.

“Where should I be?” she asked, her tone finally showing a hint of respect for the seriousness of the situation. Giles turned, indicating with an open palm a few steps forward from where she stood in the border. She took her place and waited, watching him as he moved about the small space.

“Alright, now just to get the incantation,” he said softly, to himself. He stepped around her and leaned over the coffee table to reach the ancient tome on his overstuffed reading chair. It looked more like an old journal than one of his standard musty old books. He flipped through the pages carefully, taking time to be sure he didn’t damage them.

His _tsk_ ing caught her attention. “What’s up?”

“I’ve left the blades in the kitchen,” he said, turning to head out of the room.

“I’ll get ‘em,” she said, moving past him with speedy grace. He nodded and looked back down to the ritual instructions, studying the phrases and steps he’d need to complete. He was pacing, though he gave the altar a wide birth.

He was deep in thought, and so didn’t notice the small flap at the edge of plastic that was raised, the tape not quite holding it down. He didn’t hear the silent returning footsteps of his unintentionally stealthy slayer. And he definitely didn’t realize that these two details would combine for an unprecedented calamity.

Buffy returned with the blessed daggers he’d left in the kitchen, tucked in elbow while she also carried a small jar. Its thick, dark content was slow like cold molasses, and shined like an oil slick on the surface of the ocean.

“Did you need this, too?” she asked, looking at the jar in her hand. With both watcher and slayer putting their attention to their hands, neither was paying attention to their feet, and the small flap of plastic provided just enough resistance to trip Buffy, causing her to lurch forward.

She quickly realized that her fall would land the daggers either in her flesh or his, and pivoted, her hand shooting out to catch herself on the coffee table. Except her hand didn’t hit the edge of the table, it hit the bottom of the stack of fantasy books. As Giles stooped to try to ease her fall, the books vaulted off the table, knocking the jar of oil from Buffy’s hand in its path to the alter.

It slid to the altar with enough force to send the phials clinking to their sides and the candles jostling out of place. The book landed on its covers, open to the air, with the stone bowl over-turned. The paste mixture oozed onto its pristine pages.

“Are you alright?“ Giles asked, holding his hand to her. The jar of tar-like oil rolled to a stop, leaning on its side against the book. The last bit of its force helped the last lit candle fall onto the growing mess. The thick, black, mystery liquid slunk out of the jar and onto the book, its edges mingling with oils and paste as if made for such concoctions.

The flame extinguished on the candle, drowned by the paste and oils, but where the tar inched forward, the flame was low and black.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about-“ she froze, staring down at the book. She was just about to rush forward and stomp the flame out when a rushing wind swept past her, pushing her – pulling her? – toward the fallen book. She tightened her grip on Giles, turning frightened eyes to him. “What’s going on?!”

He shook his head, leaning back and pulling her as best he could, but the winds only increased. Books and papers flew past, sucked into some kind of vortex flying over and into the book. He looked around, wondering how he could possibly stop the madness.

A particularly heavy tome crashed into the back of his head in the same instant that Buffy’s feet left the carpet, and they both careened towards the altar, disappearing into the vortex as if they were diving into the book itself. The last thing he saw was her worried face before darkness overtook him.


	2. Where's the Yellow Brick Road?

Buffy shivered and pushed her hair back with a frustrated huff. The mud she’d rolled into left her panda pajamas soaked through and ruined. She had no shoes, no weapons, and no way of knowing where the hell they’d landed. There was nothing but the sound of the woods around her - birds tittering, a river at the bottom of the bank.

Giles had a sizable goose egg on the back of his head, and the same fleeting fear that this would be The One, of the-too-many-knocks-on-his-head, that the Scoobies had all been sure would happen one day. She shook the thought away and gingerly dragged him to a tree, sitting him up against the old roots for support. She pulled some leafy, fern-like frills toward him to half-cover his lanky frame, sighing when she finished.

“Try not to die or disappear on me,” she muttered. She turned on her heel, watching her step as she moved down to the river. Careful to avoid twigs and loose rocks, she made it to the edge of the upper bank and took a final, short jump down to land next to the river. It didn’t look to be too deep, but it had a decent rush, sloshing against the old boulders that lined its shores.

Buffy knelt down, cupping her hands in the river, and a jolt ran through her. May as well have had ice in it, it was so cold. Home was sitting in the middle of a heat wave before today. Judy Garland whispered along her mind, _Toto… I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore_.

She sniffed at the cool, clear water. Nothing metallic, no sulphur. It didn’t burn her skin. She took a cautionary sip and then drank the rest when she was satisfied it was just river water. When she was done, she looked around for anything she could use to make a bowl. In her periphery she saw a figure crouched under the lip of the bank and she froze, a startled scream trying to escape her throat.

Though he was shrouded in shadow, she knew he was dead. Not undead... and he looked to be human. _Maybe we're not completely screwed_. He was balled up, leaned to the sidewall of his alcove of earth. A sword lay at his feet, crusted in blood. A brown stitched lump lay discarded to his side. She inched closer and tried to make sense of what he was wearing.

“Did we get dropped into a renn fair?” she said. He sat unblinking, her joke lost to the breeze. Buffy winced, a shiver racking her from head to toe.

“Sorry, mister. I’m freezing.” She reached forward, grabbing hold of his scuffed boots, and pulled him from his hidey-hole. _He’s not mushy yet. At least the cold is good for something_.

She started searching the body for a cause of death, glad to see there were no holes in his neck, or large stains to prevent her from wearing his clothes. There were spots and splashes of blood on his armor, but nothing to indicate how he’d lost his life. She pulled off layers as she searched, grumbling to herself.

“Stupid shaman.” Leather armor, dagger. “Why do I always end up like this?” Fur-lined vest, plain long-sleeved shirt, flat leather satchel strapped to his back. “Stupid magic!” Rough pants, lined leather boots.

Buffy winced again as she took in the nearly naked sight of her discovery. He was covered in livid, days-old bruises. Some were still a deep scarlet in their center. Scars scattered along his body. _Maybe that’s what I would’ve looked like without the slayer-healing_ , she thought.

With a shake of her head, she huffed again. Sad as this was, she couldn’t regret her grave-robbing. He was proof danger was near, and she needed to get back to her watcher. She pulled off her pajamas and donned the clothes and boots. They were only a little too big for her, which gave her no hopes of Giles being able to wear the armor.

After she made a passable attempt at cleaning the abused bastard sword – _Giles will be disgusted_ \- Buffy made a ruck sack out of her pajamas to carry the rest. She dusted off her hands and turned back to the dead man. She sighed and gently grabbed him under his arms, pulling her deceased benefactor back to his resting nook.

“Maybe if Giles isn’t too sore we can bury you,” she said quietly. Her eyes lingered a moment, drifting over the bruises, ignoring the waxen quality of his features. She spotted the leather lump again and picked it up, realizing it must be some kind of home-made flask. She pulled the cork, expecting to have more water, but the acrid scent of old red wine invaded her senses.

Her nose twisted up in disgust and she moved back to the river, rinsing it as best she could. She filled it with cool, clean water, hoping it was clean enough, and that she wasn’t accidentally gifting Giles some disease. _That’s just what we need_.

Buffy looped the long strap over her head and under one arm to secure the water to her side, and then stopped down to retrieve the dagger and its sheath. She strapped it to her thigh, the belt wrapping around twice for a tight grip. Next she grabbed up the sword, making sure her hobo sack was knotted half-way to the hilt, and rested it on her shoulder as she turned away from the river.

With impossible ease, she jumped back up to ledge and pushed forward, running the short distance back to Giles. He was still unconscious, but his color looked okay. She carefully lowered the sword and sack to kneel next to him.

“Giles?” she said, softly, her hand coming up to his face. She gave his cheek a gentle pat. “Giles, are you okay?”

His brow furrowed but he made no noise of protest. Buffy rolled her eyes and lifted the water flask over her head. She yanked the cork out with her teeth as she pulled his glasses off. With a careful flick, she splashed as little as she could onto his face. The crisp cold of the water did the trick, and his eyes snapped open.

“Buffy?” he said, groaning when the sound thundered in his head. His hands moved to his face and they froze, feeling for his glasses. She chuckled and pressed the frames against the back of his hand.

“I didn’t think you’d want them to be splashed,” she explained. He grunted and used the sleeve of his shirt to clean his face. When his glasses were back where they belonged, he paused, taking in the sight of her.

“What on earth –“ He reached forward and touched the collar of the vest, his fingers edging along the fur. “Buffy, what are you wearing?”

She shrugged. “Clothes.” She turned and grabbed the sack as she sank down on a root next to him. She opened the knot and pulled out the remainder of the dead man’s stores.

“There’s some kind of money in here, and some jerky. I don’t think the armor’s going to fit you though. Maybe I’ll try it on.”

Giles put his hand to hers, stilling her movements. “Buffy. Where did you get this?”

She swallowed and brought her eyes to his. He didn’t like the haunted look he found there, recognizing it no matter how she tried to hide it.

“Dead guy.” She tipped her head, indicating the direction. “By the river.”

He sighed and put his hand to her shoulder, offering a squeeze of compassion as his gaze dropped to the items she held in her lap. The armor was of decent quality, the likes of which he hadn’t seen since his curatorship at the museum. He noted the similar quality of all the leather goods, though they seemed to be mismatched, pooled from different sets.

Giles opened the satchel and blinked at the gold and silver coins that lay within.

“Gold dragons and silver stags,” he said quietly, pulling a silver coin up for better inspection. WESTEROS was stamped around the proud silver stag, its mouth open in a silent bray. Giles dropped the coin back in the satchel as if it burned. “Good lord.”

“What?” asked Buffy, looking up at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re in the book.” His gaze was distant, but she could practically hear the gears turning. Buffy frowned and reached up, gently touching the back of his head. He flinched and shot her an annoyed look.

“Just making sure it’s not swelling. You’re making less sense than usual.”

Giles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Uh-oh_ , she thought. _This can’t be good_.

“The book – the books you were taunting me with before we – when you –“ He stopped and wrenched his eyes tighter, frustration almost overcoming him.

“Yeah?” she said, urging him along.

“We must’ve created a portal into that world," he finally said, opening his eyes to glare at her.  "We’re _in the book_ , Buffy. We’re in the bloody woods of a fictional world.”

Her mouth hung open, unable to formulate a response. Amidst the heavy silence, a twig snapped a short distance away. Before he could stop her, Buffy disappeared around the tree with her new sword in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruh, I expected like 2 hits and a comment from my boyfriend. How excited am I that there are other people who are excited about this? Too excited. TOOOOO excited. Right now I am running on 3 hours of sleep and I hate life but I managed to finish this up. Hope you guys keep enjoying it! *heart*


	3. Rubies Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bandits in the woods? In Westeros? You're joking.

“He can’t have got much further, not with the licks I gave ‘im.” The brutish bandit pushed his finger to his nose and blew the contents, first on one side, then the other, towards the forest floor. His companion gave him a disgusted look before rolling his shoulders. 

“I hate bein’ in the bloody woods. ‘Specially in the dark. Need to find him ‘fore we lose the light.”

“Scared of the dark, Master Rain? Or are you scared o’ the beatin’ you’ll get if you don’t find the little bastard?” said the Gross One, laughing too loudly at his own joke. He slammed his meaty hand down on the smaller man’s shoulder, almost knocking Rain to his knees.

“Shut it, Grenn. Let’s just find him and be done –“ Rain stopped, blinking as Buffy stepped into their path a scant twenty paces ahead. “What in the seven hells-”

Both men stared at her a moment, the bastard sword resting on her shoulder. Grenn barked out a laugh through a lecherous grin. “Aren’t you a pretty little wench? Bet you’re prettier with your ankles at your ears.”

“You really gotta work on your delivery,” Buffy retorted. She leaned forward, adding with a conspiratorial whisper and a flat smile, “It’s a little heavy-handed.” Both men seemed confused by her words, but were quick to stop moving as she took her stance, sword in hand. “Now get lost.”

Grenn snorted and pulled his own blade, ignoring the hand of protest from his smaller companion. “If you want to die, all you need do is ask, whore.” He rushed forward, blade raised, his battle cry a booming roar that bounced off the trees.

Buffy's smile widened to a grin.

She sidestepped and swung her sword with little more than half her strength, smacking him in the back with the flat of her blade. The force combined with his momentum sent him careening into the solid tree behind her. He slammed into it face-first, his nose and cheek crunching. Blood poured from his nose almost immediately, his roar cutting off with an anguished grunt. He fell to his knees, cupping his face.

Rain flicked his daggers free of his belt and paced back, waiting for her attack. She shook her head and pushed her chin at him.

“I’m not looking for a fight. I just want to protect my watch- er… my friend.” She glanced at Grenn and took another step back, ready for an attack from either man. “Leave and don’t come back.”

Giles came into view, unarmed and lacking any kind of protection. She bit down her anger, settling instead for a disparaging glare. He didn’t meet her gaze as he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Sers, we do not wish to cause harm,” he said. Grenn flinched and leaned away from him. “I am a septon returning from duty these long years past. Please excuse my ward. She has heard many sad tales of these war-torn lands, and wishes only to see to my protection.”

Rain glanced nervously to Grenn, then to Buffy, before he turned his attention back to Giles. “Where’s your robes?”

Buffy snorted and Giles shot her a look of warning before answering. “I gave it to a new mother not long after we reached port.” He lowered his hands, a look of patience and benediction smoothing his features. She’d seen it before - seen it used on every one of the Scoobies at one point or another. “Do you wish a blessing from the Seven?”

Grenn groaned and wiped blood from his face with his sleeve, not that it did much good. Blood was smeared on his face and stained his remaining teeth. He grunted and pushed himself up, grinding his teeth as he glared at Buffy. “She’ll need one when I’m through wid ‘er.”

Buffy flashed a brilliant smile, almost laughing at him. “You want me to make you bleed somewhere else?” she asked, pointing the tip of her sword at his groin. Despite her laughing eyes, her body was taut with tension. She’d been active since the new slayer order was established, but not against humans. Giles stepped forward, his hands up again.

“I’m sure this can be solved without violence. Please Ser, my lady, lower your weapons. The Mother would not wish to see you die today.” Buffy could hear his anger and fear, though to the untrained ear he sounded nervous.

“Fuck the Mother, you buggering bastard.” Grenn readied his blade, his attention fully on Buffy. “She has Dorrick’s clothes, and his damned blade.” He lifted his sword, a challenge on his bloody face. “You’re taking us to ‘im, and I’ll have his purse as well. Then I’ll fuck you into bloody two while your septon hangs from this tree.”

“Shouldn’t talk about a holy man like that. Gets you nothing but trouble.” Buffy looked to Giles, a playful, confused expression on her face. “Which one am I supposed to pray to?”

“The Warrior,” was all he managed to say. Grenn lost his patience and heaved his sword at her head.

She swung her blade with lightning speed and severed the brute’s left hand, sending his sword's path far from its mark. He barely had time to scream before she arced her blade around, her form belying a natural grace. She stopped just short of slicing through his neck. Grenn once again fell to his knees and tucked his stump into his right armpit, muttering curses through gnashing teeth.

Buffy looked over her shoulder at Rain, her face wearing the fierce scowl of a seasoned soldier - one that made many a vampire give pause. “Drop the daggers,” she demanded.

He hesitated, his beady eyes staring at the blood trickling down his companion’s side, drops like wet rubies landing on the leaves of the forest floor. Giles took the opportunity and punched Rain in the side of his head, dazing the smaller bandit. His daggers skittered from his grip, out of reach.

“Bloody hell,” Giles muttered, waggling his hand. _Been a while since I’ve had to do that_ , he thought. He looked to Buffy, her body tense, her eyes locked on the growing pool of blood at her feet. He found the daggers and then carefully approached her.  He placed a soft hand to hers until she lowered the sword.

“Go and get the supplies,” he said quietly. She only gave him a fleeting glance before she nodded and turned away, her sword left leaning on the blood-spattered tree.

Giles sighed and looked down at Grenn, grim determination setting in. “You could’ve lived, you know. It would’ve been better for her.” He grabbed the top of the man’s head, pushing it forward. “But you’re not the first I’ve killed for her, and you’ll likely not be the last.” With a small, fortifying breath, Giles drove the dagger deep into the back of Grenn’s neck, severing arteries and tendons with a single, deadly blow. He was dead by the time he slumped to the ground.

Rain was ghostly pale, lying on his back, staring at the supposed holy man who’d slaughtered one of the fiercest fighters in his company. Giles turned to Rain, another sigh escaping him. His voice betrayed how tired he was, and how heavily this death weighed on him.

“You have a mission, my son. Consider it redemption in the eyes of the Seven.” Giles bent to a squat, using the back of the dead man’s tunic to wipe the blades clean as he spoke.

“Obviously I’ve just had to break my vow of peace, but that is between me and the gods. You are to return to whatever group you belong to, and you will tell all of how you met the Slayer. A woman touched by the Maiden, and chosen by the Stranger Himself.” Giles racked his brain trying to remember other details, lost as they were, and decided he had enough thrown in for now.

“Tell them all you want, but tell them, erm, for true, how blessed you were to survive. Do this, and I will pray to the Seven for you.” He stood and stepped forward, holding his hand to the man, helping Rain to his feet. The bandit’s eyes were wide with wonder and fright.

“If you don’t heed my words, the Stranger himself will be on your heels within a moon’s turn. He does not take kindly to slights against his champion.” He slapped a hand down on the man’s shoulder, eliciting a small grunt. “Now, we seem to have lost our way in these dense woods. Can you tell us how far it is to the Trident?”

~~~~~~~~~

Buffy came back in time to see Rain handing Giles a folded piece of leather, mumbling something about salted pans. The bandit gave her a wary look before turning his attention back to Giles. Buffy picked up Grenn’s sword, looked it over, and tossed it to Rain’s feet, her nose wrinkled with disgust.

“That’s duller than the other one. Doesn’t anyone know how to take care of a sword here?” She pushed the dead bandit to his back and began inspecting his gear. Blood was everywhere, soaked into the clothes, spattered on the few pieces of armor he had. _No point in trying to get his clothes_. She made quick work of unbuckling the light leather armor, shoulder guards, shin and knee guards. His fur-lined boots were sturdy, clearly well-made. _He probably killed someone for these… and now he’s dead and they belong to someone new_.

She shook off the macabre thought and looked for anything that might be helpful. There was a leather purse strapped to his sheath. She untied the bag and transferred its contents to her satchel. Emptied, she took the leather cord from it and combed her fingers through her hair. She wove a rough braid, and coiled it up at the back of her head, tying it in place with the cord.

“M-my lady, if I could ask a favor?” said Rain, having watched her as she mechanically stripped Grenn of his possessions.

“Sure, what do you want?” she said, not looking at him. Giles cleared his throat.

“He is asking for a favor… A token of yours, to prove that he has your blessing,” explained Giles. Buffy sighed and looked around, her eyes falling to the balled-up silk in her pile of supplies. The undershirt of her pajamas. It was grimy, but it was probably finer than anything this guy had ever touched before. She hooked an edge on the tip of the sword and tore it in two, and then again, offering him a square with a laced edge.

Rain took the gentle fabric, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Giles waved his hand in a vague, seven-pointed-star shape, and hoped it was convincing.

“The Seven go with you, brother.”

Buffy mimicked the motion and said, “Yeah, maybe try not killing people.” At Giles’ look she added, “Unless you’re defending yourself, I guess.”

Rain awkwardly bowed his head forward. “Yes, Lady Slayer. Thank you.” He left quickly, not even taking the risk of looking back. When she couldn’t hear Rain’s hurried steps anymore, Buffy turned to Giles, pushing his shoulder angrily.

“What do you think you were doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she said, her voice grainy with emotion. Her eyes threatened to tear up and she wiped at them roughly to keep them dry.

“These are a superstitious and religious people, Buffy. I had every chance of succeeding.”

She crouched down, indicating the dead man on the ground. “And if he’d been stronger than I thought, or faster? He could’ve gutted you. Would have.” She retrieved the leather and stood, pushing past Giles when he moved to block her path. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Gotta rinse this blood off before it stains.”

Giles watched her disappear into the woods and sighed. He removed his glasses, giving them a thorough polishing. This was only the beginning of a long and difficult road.

“Patience is a virtue, old man,” he muttered to himself. _She’s at the mouth of hell, and this time she won’t have her friends to keep her sane_ , he realized. “Bollocks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys your comments give me L I F E. I was already excited to write this story, and I am shocked and humbled by the response. Please don't hesitate to call me on something though, because here's the honest truth - I haven't read as much of the books as I'd like, so there's a lot of GoT stuff coming from the show... and just a shit ton of wiki reading. Soooo... have fun!


	4. The 411

After Giles put on the armor and boots, snug though the items were, they set out on a southwestern trek. Buffy was quiet, walking behind him without complaint. Giles found himself unwilling to break the silence, in no mood to attract her ire while they carefully maneuvered through the woods. Though the trees and forest floor indicated an autumnal scene, Giles could feel the oncoming snows. As often as the Starks said ‘Winter is coming’, it hadn’t put the feeling of cold dread in his bones the same as the air did now.

They set up camp, keeping only a small fire for warmth. Buffy fashioned a few sticks into a kind of spit to dry off her mud-stained pajamas. She poked at the fire with a long stick, her knees tucked against her chest. She took a deep breath, and he knew it was finally going to come out, whatever had her thinking so much through the day.

“So where are we headed?” she said. An acorn at the edge of the fire popped and she pushed it further into the embers with her primitive poker.

“There is an island where the penitent go – people who seek sanctuary in the Faith of the Seven. There may be some holy texts that could help me better understand the magics of this world.” He kept his gaze on the fire, though he was proud of her. Strategy seemed to be foremost on her mind.

“Is that why you pretended to be a priest?” she said.

Giles nodded and shifted forward, mirroring her position. He locked his arms around his legs, holding some of the heat in as best he could.

“The brothers of faith are a peaceful order. They’ve taken vows of peace, silence, study and celibacy.” Giles adjusted his glasses and tried to remember other details. “It would be a safe place to stay while I try to figure a way home.”

Buffy sighed and shoved her stick into the fire, letting it fall to its doom. “So what’s the what here? Are there vampires, or demons or anything? Or is it just… bad people?”

Giles kept his own sigh in. He knew how much human death affected her, and he hated they were stuck in a world drowning in it. “There are supernatural forces stirring far north, north of a structure called the Wall. Wights, heading a zombie army.” He locked eyes with her, his face at once apologetic and stiff. “We won’t have to go there, though. They pose no threat to us this far south, and I would hope to have us home before they become a factor.”

“You said something about war before,” she prompted, hugging her knees a little tighter. “Can you give me the Cliffs Notes?”

Giles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There’s quite a bit that’s happened, is happening. I’m not sure exactly where in the timeline we’ve fallen –“

“Giles, does it look like I have anything else to do right now?”

His lips quirked in a small grin and he nodded. “Right. Well, best start at the beginning.”

For the next few hours, Giles recounted what he could remember about the series, how the story laced together, though he tried to keep it grouped by family for the sake of clarity. Buffy had questions enough ranging from wanting to know when the Starks would found out it was Jaime that pushed Bran from the tower, to wondering if Stannis realized he was putting all his faith in a woman who was clearly a demon, or at the very least, a witch of the not-nice variety.

“She gave birth to a shadow that slithered into that guy’s camp and killed him, Giles. That is one of the most demon-y things I’ve ever heard.”

“Try to keep in mind you’re hearing this second-hand, and worst still, from someone who doesn’t remember all the details.” Giles sighed and wiped a hand down his face. “It’s an incredibly complex series of events.”

“Poor Brianna, though. She probably has major guilt about that,” she said. “I would.”

“Brienne. Of Tarth,” he corrected. “And yes, I suppose she does. She loved him, I think.”

“Bummer about that Clegane guy, too. He seemed pretty cool,” she said. She stood and stretched her lithe form as tall as she could, waggling her limbs as she relaxed back down.

“Gregor?” he asked, clearly surprised. Had he somehow failed to express the man’s monstrous acts?

“No the other one. The little brother… the dog? The Hound! He sounds like a no-frills kind of guy.” She moved around the fire and sat next to him, huddling for warmth. “I bet in a place with so many spies, and so many lies, someone straightforward would be kinda refreshing.”

“He was honest, if very harsh,” he conceded, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Courtly manners and intrigues were quite unseemly to him.”

“The truth’s always harsh. ‘S why lies are so tempting,” she mumbled, her head resting in the crook of his arm. She yawned and snuggled further in, welcoming the shared warmth between them. She was asleep in mere moments.

Giles settled them back against a tree behind him, hoping sleep would visit him, if only for a little while.

~~~~~~~~~

They traveled for another two days before finding the outskirts of Wickenden. Before they entered the town proper, Giles pulled some coins for each of them, and stored the rest in the satchel strapped under Buffy’s vest. He removed his armor and folded it in with the rest.

“We can trade the armor and bastard sword, along with a little gold, for a better sword, and a sharpening stone. Best make sure everything you want to keep is separate.” Buffy nodded and tied the sack tight around the leather armor.

Giles took the sword and carried it into town sheathed. Buffy stayed quiet, though she walked at his side, carrying the sack of armor on her shoulder like a tote bag. They found a smith soon enough, and after about ten minutes of careful negotiation – as well as generous offerings for blessings from the new gods – Giles had procured an order for a better blade.

“It’ll be ready in the morn, septon. There’s an inn up the way, they’ll have a stew on.”

Giles made another vaguely seven-pointed-star, muttering blessings he thought appropriate. The smith appeared happy enough and they went on their way.

Buffy chewed on her lip as they walked up the path, townspeople staring at her openly. Some held contempt, while others were simply curious. She did her best to keep her head up and her eyes forward, but she could feel every pair of eyes on her back as she followed Giles into the inn. They were both slammed with the inescapable smell of alcohol, smoke, food, and body odor.

“At least it doesn’t smell like pee,” she whispered. Giles gave an imperceptible nod, then looked about for someone to talk to about getting a room. Buffy spotted the inn keep first – a round woman with red cheeks and frizzy hair. She stepped forward, pulling some coins from her pocket.

“Excuse me,” she said, making the older woman start and turn to her. “We need a night’s stay, please.”

The older woman looked her up and down, gray eyes betraying none of her thoughts.

“S'pose you'll be needin’ a bath and food?” she finally asked.

Buffy’s dazzling smile almost blinded the old woman. “Yes, that’d be wonderful. Will this be enough?” she asked, putting a gold dragon and three silver coins in the woman’s hand. The inn keep clamped her meaty fist around them, tucking the money away in her wine-stained apron.

“Aye, that’s lovely, dear. You need one room or two?” She was eyeing Giles now, almost as if she didn’t trust the plain-clothed man.

“One’s fine. Just need two baths and two helpings each of the stew. We’ve heard good things about it.” Buffy was anxious to get to her room and wash the woods from her skin. She almost missed the expression on the inn keep’s face before the older woman turned away. She returned to Buffy with a key.

“Up the stairs, fourth door o’ the right. We’ll have a tub and hot water up presently.”

“Thank you,” Buffy said, wondering what the odd look meant. She wiggled the key at Giles as she turned to him, nodding to the stairs. “Let’s go, G-man.”

“Perhaps you should finish your bath first, and I could join you, erm, later?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. "And don't call me that."

Buffy gave him a questioning look, though she nodded. “Okay. Do you want the dagger?”

“No, keep it with you. In case –“

“Giles, I can do more damage with my bare hands. Just take it.” She reached down and unbuckled the belt, handing him the blade in its sheath. “If a fight breaks out, come upstairs. We can’t replace your glasses here... at least I don't think we can. I haven't seen anyone else wearing them.”

He sighed and accepted it, knowing she was right. He hadn’t even considered the thought of what might happen if he lost his glasses. He could barely see without them. He watched her retreating back as she disappeared up the stairs.

Upstairs, Buffy opened the door and realized immediately why Giles had decided to wait. She thought having a room would be like any other motel – two little beds and a separate room for privacy. Instead she entered a single small room, a straw-stuffed mattress atop a leaning frame on the left, a tiny window near the ceiling on the right. There were furs stacked on the bed, a pile of clothes on top. A wooden tub was set up in the middle of the room. 

“Pardon me, my lady,” said a small voice. Buffy turned and looked into the face of a girl no older than fourteen. She was dirty and thin, and she stepped forward with a bucket of steaming water, a thick rag protecting her calloused hands from the hot handle. She poured it into the tub and hurried from the room. It took five trips before the tub was sufficiently full.

“Thank you,” Buffy said, pulling a silver stag from her pocket. The girl’s dark eyes went round and she shook her head.

“No, my lady, they’ll think I’ve stole it,” she said, pushing Buffy’s hand away. Buffy frowned and tucked the coin back into her pocket.

“Well if you change your mind, let me know.” She gave the girl a Giles-patented-shoulder-squeeze and let her scurry away.

Buffy closed the door and locked it before she turned to the tub. A dish was sitting on a stool, a lump of what could only be soap sat in the middle. Still, when she sank into the hot water, she was sure it was the best thing she’d ever felt in her entire life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are probably starting to wonder when this story is going to get in gear, but I think maybe I'm giving Buffy a chance to get used to the world. Her reality may be pretty gritty at home, but at least she has pajamas and a shower at home. A bed that will likely not have bugs in it. I'm having fun with her culture shock. Most of those people ain't seen a woman in pants before lol.  
> Regarding Giles as a septon, two things: I've long had a headcanon that Giles doesn't retain fiction as well as he does his reference books. Pleasure reading only really sticks with him if it creates a strong emotional reaction, and so he's having difficulties with a lot of details of this world. No 2: after considering dropping him in Westeros, I had a feeling he would connect with the brothers of the Quiet Isle, because there's a lot of fellas there who have left their old, violent lives for a life of penitence, peace, and reflection. Doesn't sound like anyone we know, someone named Ripper maybe?  
> Lastly - yeah, eventually the pairings will happen, including Buffy and Giles. Its a slow burn because I have fun justifying that relationship more than anything else. I'll probably be aging Sansa up to 17 just because jfc that poor girl does not deserve this and being a little older helps her cope I think. Don't hate me. I haven't decided but that's the likeliest thing that'll happen. Jesus these notes go on for days! Sorry.


	5. Eavesdropping and Wine

“See that little bitch walked in? Wearing trousers like the Tarth wench.” The man took a long drag of ale and slammed his cup to the table. “Stands in the face o’ the gods, it does.”

Another man barked a single laugh and shook his head. “I’d rather ‘em wearin’ trousers. See her little arse wiggle up the steps?”

Giles closed his eyes a moment, trying to listen to any other conversation happening around him.

“Aye, a pretty little thing,” the first man said. “Mayhaps she’ll take a lover later in the eve.”

“Not with your ugly cunt of a face,” said his friend, laughing harder. “She has the look of Qarth on her. Won’t want nothin’ to do wi’ the likes o’ you.”

The first man said nothing, and Giles hoped that would end the conversation. He’d been listening for at least an hour to the comings and goings of the travelers. News of the death of Gregor Clegane, his skull delivered to Dorne. The raids of Saltpans, by a man pretending to be the Hound, killed by none other than Brienne of Tarth. _Yes, she’s on a quest to find Sansa_ , he thought, details slowly trickling back from his memory.

“She has a priest with her, besides. Doubt she’ll be of a mind to take a lover,” the first grumbled.

“He looks like a fit priest, too, you desperate bastard. Man aimed for the Quiet Isle, most like. Deserter or sworn shield.”

Giles sighed and turned to the two men, who both seemed surprised to have garnered his attention.

“She would break both your necks before you could blink,” he said softly. “She is more skilled in battle than any warrior before her. Best remember your place.”

Before they could respond, Buffy stepped down the final stairs into the common room. Her hair shone bright, tied back against her neck. She had on a simple gray dress, laced tightly up the front. She stopped by the hearth and spoke to a servant girl, handing over some dirty clothes. The girl scurried away. With that task done, Buffy spotted Giles and moved effortlessly across the room to join him.

“Your bath will be ready in a little bit. Hope the wait was okay.” She grabbed his cup and gave it a sniff before she took a dainty sip. Her nose wrinkled and she pushed it back to him.

“Not to your taste?” he asked, amused. She shook her head. When the inn keep came round with their stew, Buffy handed the woman another silver coin.

“Could I have something sweeter, if you have it?” she asked, indicating Giles’ cup. The old woman smiled, though the expression looked like it didn’t grace her features often.

“Of course, girl. I’ve some Arbor Gold tucked away.” She hustled away and Giles quirked his brow at her.

“What?” Buffy said. 

“Generous,” he intoned.

She shrugged and hunkered down, slurping up her stew as quickly as possible. “We’re going to an island of priests who’ve taken a bunch of vows. Pretty sure one of them is a vow of poverty or whatever.”

Giles chuckled and nodded, tasting his own stew. Just a tad bland, but it was better than the jerky they’d been surviving on the last three days. It was hot, and somewhat fresh, and there was even a vegetable or two in it.

The Arbor Gold was indeed sweeter, but Buffy was sorely missing the comforts of modern living. Like ice. And salt. She didn’t complain though. This inn was definitely a step up from sleeping in the woods, trudging along in mud and who knew what else. The stew was gone quickly and she was glad she’d ordered a second helping already.

They ate silently, the conversation around them having died down to small talk and plans for travel. The two fellows who’d been discussing her before seemed to be assessing her, curious how a girl so small and feminine could possibly break their necks. When the next serving came, Buffy offered a genuine smile.

“Thank you. It’s delicious. I just have one more favor to ask, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Giles sighed. He was going to have to talk to her about the way she spoke if she was to avoid confusing everyone she met. The older woman didn’t show signs of such, receptive though she was to whatever it was Buffy had to say.

“Do you have a privacy screen or a spare blanket I could hang? He’s going to want to take a bath, and I don’t want to sit down here by myself while he does.”

“Aye, we have a screen in my rooms. I can loan it to you while your man bathes,” the woman said, grinning at Buffy.

“Um, okay. Th- thank you.” Buffy watched her walk away before turning to Giles. “I’m pretty sure I’m missing the joke.”

“They think we’re involved,” he said softly. He didn’t look at her as he took another drink of his wine. “Don’t worry over it too much, Buffy. We’ll be gone from this place in the morning.”

“Do you think we have enough to get horses?” she asked quietly, swishing her spoon in her stew.

“Maybe. I’ll have to ask, see whether there are any horses to be bought. We may have to settle for a horse and a mule,” he replied.

She nodded and leaned forward, ignoring everything other than the task of finishing her food. She was uncomfortable with the idea people were talking about her, but she didn’t really have a choice. She was finished soon and rolled her shoulders as she leaned back, pushing the bowl forward.

“I’m going to sleep so hard tonight,” she said, making Giles chuckle again.

“I’m sure we both will,” he said, rising from his seat. He offered his elbow and said, “Ready to retire, my lady?”

She grinned and stood, wrapping her arm in his. “Absolutely.”

After his bath, a twenty-minute argument ensued as to whether Giles would sleep on the floor or share the bed with her. She stomped her foot and pointed at the bed angrily as she landed her strongest statement yet.

“If you sleep on the floor you’re going to be sore, and that means you’ll be grumpy. You might even get sick. Just get in the bed, Giles, it’s not like I haven’t been sleeping right next to you for the last three nights!”

Giles sighed and pulled his glasses off, folding them and gently placing them on the table next to the bed. “Alright, Buffy. Alright. Let’s just make the best of it, shall we?”

She grinned, her victory handled with little grace as she kicked off her boots and crawled into bed, flopping on the far side near the wall. She patted the bed next to her.

“Pretend it’s the ground, but with blankets.”

Giles gave her a scowl and turned from her, sinking onto the edge of the bed. He nearly removed his shirt out of habit, but stopped himself. He blew out the meager candle on the table, plunging the room into near-darkness. Then he rolled to his side, kicking his feet from the floor, and lay on his back next to her. His feet hung from the edge of the bed.

“Not so bad, huh? We’re not even touching,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. He grinned into the darkness.

“Not so bad,” he agreed. He sighed and lifted his arm, resting it over his eyes. “I need to talk with you about how you speak.”

“Too Cali?” she asked after a pause.

“Rather.”

“Well, I can try to be more formal. I just don’t like how snooty it sounds,” she said, turning on her side to look at him. Her eyes were already adjusting to the dark. “I’ll try to talk more like you, I guess.”

“I’m snooty?” he said, mock annoyance tingeing his voice. She heard his grin, though, and nudged him again.

“No, but you’re definitely not casual.” She sighed and turned onto her back again, stretching. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I’ve known you for like eight years. I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

He lifted his arm, his eyes open in surprise. “Good lord, it has been that long, hasn’t it?”

She laughed and tipped her head to the side, resting it against his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

After a time, both lost in their own thoughts and memories, Giles cleared his throat. “There’s one other thing,” he said, sounding hesitant.

“What?”

“We may need you to use a different name.”

She sighed. “Yeah, bet there aren’t any other Buffys around, are there.”

“Not as yet, no.” He hesitantly reached into the darkness and touched her arm, a small pat of consolation. “Only for a little while. Would you prefer Anne?”

He didn’t see the pained expression that rippled on her features. Buffy shook her head.

“No, I don’t think so. What about Beth? Is that old-timey enough?”

“Beth. I suppose so. And your last name is already appropriate. I’ll simply go by Brother Rupert.”

Buffy groaned. “Noooo, Giles that’s not okay.”

“It’s my name, Buffy.”

“Beth.”

“Sorry. Lady Beth.”

She sighed and flopped away from him. “Fine. Brother Rupert. God.”

“Gods,” he corrected. She huffed but said no more.

Soon they were both asleep, and no more was said on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet - and next chapter we'll have our favorite watcher and slayer head to the Quiet Isle, where a certain gravedigger is silently digging his sins away...Thanks to everyone for the kudos and the comments. Still completely floored by the response to this story! *love from me to youuuu*


	6. Word Travels Fast When You Don’t Have Wifi

Giles woke the next morning only because he heard some commotion followed by an unexpectedly colorful array of language from Buffy. He cracked an eye open and then reached for his glasses, pushing them onto his face.

“Buffy?” he said, interrupting himself with a yawn. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Almost spilled breakfast. Stupid dress.” She kicked the offending garment out of her way and pulled the stool up next to the bed, setting the small tray atop. There was fresh bread, honeyed milk, and some kind of hard cheese. She was back to wearing the clothes of the dead, though they were freshly laundered. He blinked and gave her a closer look.

“Did they take in your clothes?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling at him. She slid onto the bed and crossed her legs, reaching for her share of the food. “Neat, huh?”

“You’ve made quite the impression.”

Buffy wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Jyllan wouldn’t take the silver until I asked her to fix my clothes. She did a pretty good job.” She rolled her shoulders and chewed contentedly for a moment. “No way was I going to wear that dress around. I couldn't move in it. So..." Another bite of cheese. "Sword. Horses. Time to get going?”

He nodded, swallowing down the last of his milk. “We’ll need to see about rations as well. If my map is correct, we’re about a week’s ride from the Quiet Isle.”

Buffy deflated a little. “A week?” At his look she sighed and stood, stuffing the rest of the cheese and bread into a little silk bag.

“Is that -?” he started to ask, and she nodded.

“The rest of my undershirt. Part of the sewing project,” she said, tying it closed. “It’ll keep the bread and cheese for lunch, I guess.”

They made their way downstairs, Buffy waiting in the common room while Giles answered nature’s call. She said goodbyes to the servant girl and the inn keep, their smiles sad as they waved her out.

Buffy and Giles approached the smith, with a well-rested bounce in her step, glad to see him already at work in the forge. He put red-hot armor to the side for a moment, wiping sweat from his brow as he waved them forward.

“Got your blade.” He lifted a cloth and set it on the workbench, pulling the flaps back without flourish.

Buffy let out a surprised gasp. “It’s… pretty!” she said, running her fingers along the decorative hilt.

“Aye, thought you’d like it,” said the smith, his chest puffing out with a little pride. “I already had the blade, so I worked into the night to finish it.”

The hilt looked as if a vine was wrapped around, curling down, leaves spreading wide to shape the crossguard. At the top of the blade, on each side, was a seven-pointed star, attached and polished to a shine. Buffy looked to Giles with a wide smile as she reached into her pocket and pulled out another gold dragon.

“Please, for your fine work,” she said, holding it out to the smith.

“My thanks, Lady Slayer,” he said gratefully.

Buffy pretended to be unsurprised by the title as she picked up the blade, inspecting it. The smith lifted a leather sheath, which she strapped to her hips immediately. She pushed the sword into the sheath and then pulled it out again, weaving it one-handed through the air. The smith’s brows rose a bit at that.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” said Giles, enjoying the moment. “Where might I inquire about obtaining horses and travel gear?”

“There’s a few horses at the stables can be bought,” said the smith, pointing to a barn a hundred yards away. “They outfit travelers and trade horses near e’ry day.”

“Thank you, and blessings on you,” said Giles, nodding to Buffy as he started to head that way. Buffy gave the smith a friendly wave and jogged to catch up, sheathing her sword.

“Lady Slayer?” she said quietly, smiling tightly to the townsfolk who stared at her.

“I may have told that Rain fellow to spread word of a maiden warrior called the Slayer. A woman not to be trifled with,” said Giles, his face neutral.

“So not even a little bit of a secret identity?" she said, incredulous. "Giles. I’m shocked. Get you away from other watchers for a few days and it’s ‘Oh look out, here comes the slayer!’”

“They don’t have vampires or vampire slayers here, Buffy. To them, it’s a clever title – the same as calling the others Scoobies,” he said. “Now give me just a moment. I’ll get the horses and we can be on our way.”

“Yeah. Sure. Don’t forget to ask for the slayer discount!” she said, crossing her arms. 

~~~~~~~~

They made excellent time considering how cautiously they traveled, arriving at Saltpans in six days. All levity seemed to be sucked from Buffy at the sight of the ransacked town. The ruins of the village were still smoking in some places. Survivors were milling about, working to rebuild what they could, but it seemed almost hopeless. Charred buildings and equally charred bodies were being hauled to a pile, and Buffy had to avert her eyes.

At the edge of the town, by the river, was a robed man sitting on shore before a rowboat. They approached and Giles dismounted, running his hand down the rounsey’s neck as he addressed the man.

“Mother’s blessings on you, brother,” he said. The man perked up and lifted his head, though he left his hood up. “We seek sanctuary on the Quiet Isle. Can you help us?”

The hooded man looked from Giles to Buffy, his head tilting to the side. He seemed to study them for a moment.

“We need someplace safe to stay until we can figure out how to get home,” said Buffy.

The robed brother watched them for an uncomfortable, silent three minutes. Abruptly, he turned on his stool and reached into the boat, retrieving a thin, rolled piece of parchment and coal. He scribbled a brief message and rolled it back up, reaching behind him to grab a cage. A raven sat calmly inside, blinking at them as it cocked its head back and forth. The hooded man uncaged the bird, attached the message, and set it loose to fly direct to the isle.

Buffy nudged Giles with her foot. “Does that mean yes?” she asked quietly.

“I believe so,” Giles replied.

She was quiet a few seconds before adding, “How long do you think ‘til we know?”

“Lady Beth, patience is a gift from the Seven,” he said sternly, glaring over his shoulder at her. She sighed and lowered herself from her horse.

“Fine. I’m going to practice.” She left without a look back, walking thirty paces away and pulling out her blade.

Buffy "practiced" with her sword every day, both at the start and end of the day. She had too much energy, and no way to expend it in this vampire-less world. She’d listened to his coaching on manners and phrasing, and practiced calling him Brother Rupert. Now she went through her sword technique drills with fierce focus, fighting unseen enemies as she twisted and parried.

The robed brother watched her move, so Giles let his attention fall to her as well. As her teacher, he couldn’t help but be proud. Her grace and ferocity were unparalleled. She hadn’t taken to the sword when he’d first tried to teach her all those years ago, but as with all things, she’d picked it up in no time. A natural slayer.

“She has quite a gift,” said the robed brother. Giles nearly jumped from his skin. He rounded on the man, fighting back the urge to glare at him.

“Yes, quite,” Giles replied.

“Forgive me. I’d heard tale of a Lady Slayer on a path to the Seven. I wanted to assess whether you were a threat.” The robed brother stood, lowering his hood. “You may call me Elder Brother. What may I call you?”

“Brother Rupert,” said Giles, offering his hand. Elder Brother wrapped a hand around his wrist and shook it firmly. “The raven?”

“Sending word to bring help for your horses. The tide will be low in an hour or two, and we can bring them across the mud flats.” Elder Brother looked back to Buffy, watching her continued movements. “I see why they call her Lady Slayer now. She is quite a sight.”

Giles gave a nod and turned his attention back to her. Within fifteen minutes, another small boat appeared with three robed brothers. Two left the boat, joining Elder Brother and Giles on the shore.

“Please keep watch over our guests’ horses, and guide them back when the tide is low.” The hooded men nodded and bowed their heads, then stepped forward to take the reins from Giles.

The third brother – a hulking man with a cowl covering his face beneath his hood – stayed aboard, awaiting instruction.

Giles trotted to Buffy, calling for her as he approached. “We’ve been granted sanctuary,” he said when she stilled.

Buffy sheathed the blade and bent low, stretching her back and legs. After a moment, she swung her arms up high, balancing on her toes as she arched her back, lithe and cat-like as she released her stretch.

“Perfect timing," she said. She joined him as he turned back toward the group of holy men.

 “They’ll likely ask you to surrender your weapon,” he said softly. She sighed, resigned.

“I guess that’s okay. I can handle a fight without it…”

“But you’ve grown accustomed to it,” he finished for her.

“Yeah.” She dipped her chin, hiding the smile playing on her lips. She leaned to the side, bumping his arm with her shoulder. “We're going to be okay, right?”

“We’ll be fine.”

They pulled their packs from the horses, though they left the placid beasts saddled. They’d just finished in time to overhear Elder Brother quietly speak to the large man in the boat. “Brother Sandor, please escort the lady to the isle. I will bring her companion in my boat.”

The man nodded and turned his head to nod at her, indicating he was ready.

Buffy looked to Giles with a meaningful widening of her eyes. She bit down an excited grin before plopping herself into the boat. The silent brother grunted as he tipped the oars back and began paddling them to the Quiet Isle.

“She seems eager,” said Elder Brother, moving to his own boat.

“Yes, well... we are far from home. Now we can hope to return,” said Giles. He watched her leaning forward, apparently speaking to the silent brother.

“Please, join me and tell me more of your travels. I’m eager to hear more about how you’ve come to be traveling companions,” said Elder Brother, indicating the bench opposite him in the little rowboat.

“I fear it’s a long tale, and difficult to believe,” said Giles, climbing in. He kept a curse to himself as he felt it dip with his added weight. He carefully shifted to the middle of the bench, eyeing the water warily.

“Ah, but it will be better to hear your tale than none at all. Most of the brothers on the isle are under a vow of silence,” said Elder Brother.

Giles chuckled and nodded. “Very well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder how far the news has spread - and to who? *evil grin*
> 
> Edited: I noticed two little errors hours and multiple reads later. Whoops.


	7. Cracking the Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy pushes a few buttons, natch.

Buffy watched him move, looking for a hint of form beneath his baggy robe. _He’s probably used to bullying everyone just by standing over them_ , she thought. Despite the loose fit of his clothes, she could see the lines of his arms, and his hands were large and rough.

“Are you a silent brother?” she asked, conversationally. He gave a single, terse nod. “Oh.” She cut a look over her shoulder to watch Giles climb into Elder Brother’s boat,  smiling to herself at the cautionary way he settled down.

“Well I’m not, so… let’s see. Maybe I can catch you up on the dailies,” she said, turning back to her escort. Buffy couldn’t see his eyes with the sun setting at his back, his hood casting a deep shadow over his face. She leaned back to cross her legs, then curled forward with her elbows resting on her knees.

“I bet you haven’t heard about Lady Sansa Stark. She disappeared during the king’s wedding. His death ended up being the perfect distraction." She looked to the isle, using the silence to try to recall the few details she’d managed to keep straight. Her hair twisted in the breeze, the bits not tied back fluttering about her face and neck. “The dwarf was blamed for it, and he had a trial by combat. I think his champion was the prince of... Dorne?”

Her brow furrowed - his name was on the tip of her tongue. “Orion? No, that’s not it. Odernon. Whatever. He died –“ she winced, remembering just how he’d been put to death, “- but not before he poisoned the other fighter, Gregor Clegane.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. Her pointed look showed just how much she cared about the Mountain that Rides. Buffy tried to covertly study him, see how he reacted. His shoulders only tensed as they pushed the oars through the water. She lowered her voice, giving the news a little of the gravity it deserved. “And then Gregor’s skull was sent to Dorne.”

After a moment, she let out a small sigh. “I heard his brother is dead, too, but I think that news came from the Quiet Isle, so it’s probably not news to you.” She leaned in and spoke in a secretive way. “And after he finally quit working for the king and helped Sansa’s sister make it to safety.”

Without warning, the boat ran into shore, and Buffy lurched forward. She would’ve caught herself, but he dropped an oar to grab her shoulder with one large hand. His face was inches from hers, and she could see his scowl in the shadows, one side of his face missing an eyebrow. That single chance close-up confirmed it. She knew exactly who he was, and he knew it, too. At the same instant she recognized him, she realized how callous her words had been. She belittled the death of his brother like it was amusing to her.

 _Maybe he cared about him, and you did the same thing you always do_ , she thought. _Open mouth, insert foot, huh Buffster_ , Xander’s voice whispered. Guilt trickled through her, sprawling out from the firm pressure of his grip. These people may be fictional in her world, but she was in _their_ world now. _You’re the fake one,_ Lady _Beth,_ she thought, almost making herself pout. 

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I… Sorry.” She shifted, intending to stand, but he tightened his grip and pushed her back down.

“Why are you sorry, girl?” he demanded. His voice was rougher than she expected.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned him,” she said, catching her lower lip in her teeth for a second. “I mean, he _was_ your brother, right?”

He pulled his hood back, yanked the cowl from his face, and spat over the side of the boat.

“He was a shit brother, and now he’s dead,” said Sandor. “My only regret is it wasn’t my sword tha' fucking did it.” His eyes were sharp as he studied her. “How do you know such, but you can’t name the fucking Lannisters or buggering Prince Oberyn?”

She twisted, moving from his grasp with ease, and stood up. Surprise briefly lit his features as he looked up at her.

“I’m not so great with names,” she said, a self-deprecating grin on her lips. “But I’ve heard good things about you.”

Before he could question her further, she stepped onto the edge and hopped from the boat. He turned to watch her, surprised again when she pulled the boat further ashore as if his weight meant nothing.

“I also heard you’re pretty good with a sword,” said Buffy, dusting off her hands. “Maybe we can spar a little when you feel up to it.”

He got out of the boat faster than she expected, though she noticed his limp immediately. He favored his right leg, and if what Giles said was at all accurate, he was missing a pretty big chunk of thigh.

“Why should I waste time sparring with a little girl?” he said, almost a growl.

“How else are you going to build the muscle back up?” she asked innocently, indicating his labored step. She arched an eyebrow at him, but he had no response.

With a quick step to the side, she went around him to the water and grabbed the oar he’d dropped, lazily lapping at the beach. She tossed it into the boat, then pulled her bag up and slung it over her shoulder. She turned back to face him, flashing a quick, teasing smile. “Besides, I’m probably the only person who could actually beat you.”

His scowl faltered, but she didn’t look away or flinch under the force of his stare. Instead her smile widened. She gave his shoulder a pat as she walked past. “Come on, _Brother_ Sandor. Show me around. Something tells me you have an opinion or two about this place.”

He snorted and fell into step, his scarred cheek twitching, something resembling a grin twisted up on the other.

“Aye. They’re a pitiful bunch of cunts,” he muttered, grinning wider when she laughed. The grin melted away, as they often did when he was awake and sober. “Be on your guard, girl. Some haven’t seen a woman in years.”

Buffy cut a stony look up to him. “No one touches me without my permission.”

Sandor searched her eyes for a few seconds. “Good,” he said, and continued his trek with her up the hill.

Above them, unnoticed, three ravens flew in separate directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way short, but I thought it would be better to do back-to-back short chapters of their boat rides than make one monster chapter that might not get posted til tomorrow. >_> Buffy didn't do a very good job with her formal speech. How quickly the young forget.  
> Every hit, kudo and comment makes my fuckin' day, y'all. You are the greatest, and I'm overjoyed that you're in it for the long haul with me.


	8. Not so Penitent, It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giles gets politely interrogated by Elder Brother.

Giles focused on Elder Brother, taking a breath to calm himself. He focused on the kindness in the other man’s eyes, and realized he didn’t wish to deceive him more than necessary.

“What would you like to know?” Giles finally said.

The Elder Brother quirked a brow in question. “Is your story so long?”

“Longer,” Giles replied with a single, breathy laugh. “We’ve been side by side for nearly ten years. The best minstrel could not sing of our history in so short a time.”

He glanced over Elder Brother’s shoulder and realized Buffy was already nearly halfway across the river. They’d be at the isle in minutes. His attention shifted back to Elder Brother, who had nowhere near the strength or apparent urgency.  “Although at this pace, perhaps there’s time enough,” said Giles.

Elder Brother chuckled and gave an apologetic nod. “We are not all blessed with such strength as my brother.” He cleared his throat. “Well, then, we must start somewhere.  Are you seeking the Faith of the Seven?”

Giles shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I can appreciate the path of your faith, but my primary concern is to return home with Lady Beth.”

Elder Brother’s lifted his brows. “Noble. How did you come to meet her?”

“Luck, I'd say,” said Giles, recalling how close he'd been to losing his place in the council. “She was young, six and ten. She needed a mentor, and I had trained for such a purpose for quite some time. I taught her how to hone her skills, defeat her enemies, and seek her independence.”

“So you were a warrior once, or mayhap a soldier,” said Elder Brother.

Giles nodded half-heartedly, letting the other man's assumptions fall where they may. “’I’m trained in multiple techniques.”

“Why would she need such training?” Elder Brother asked next.

“She has a higher purpose,” Giles replied, choosing his words carefully. “She… has a destiny.”

Giles looked to the isle, finally the distance halved between them. Buffy and her silent escort were already on the beach. Brother Sandor was looming over her, but Giles had no fear for her safety. He could read her body language with ease - she was unafraid, and even seemed to be teasing the massive man.

“Destiny is a painful mistress,” said Elder Brother, drawing Giles’ attention back to the conversation. “Six and ten. So young, and yet almost a woman grown. What grand destiny could fall on such a girl?”

Giles considered him a moment, wondering how to explain the powers of the slayer without discussing prophesies or vampires. “Lady Beth was… blessed, by old magicks, to protect humanity." A recurring phrase bubbled up from his memory, and he twisted it to suit his purpose.  "She fights the terrors of the night.”

“Quite a task for one so young and slight,” said Elder Brother.

Giles chose to remain silent, as a question had not been explicitly asked. _Just get to the sodding point_ , he thought, though he managed to maintain a neutral expression. After a few seconds of silence, the Elder Brother sighed.

“Why seek the Quiet Isle for sanctuary?" At Giles' look, he elaborated.  "My informants tell me you were generous with coin, but eager to be here.”

 _The inn-keeper,_ Giles surmised.

“What better place to seek sanctuary than with men of peace?” said Giles, his head slightly tilted. “I had hoped you’ve a library, to better determine the path home.”

“Mayhap the Citadel would be a wiser choice, but I would not go there if I sought peace,” said the Elder Brother. “Our library is small, but I hope it will be of help.” The knot of worry that had bunched between his shoulders quietly released, and Giles let out a small, slow breath of relief. “I hope in time you can trust me with the rest of your tale, Brother Rupert,” the older man continued. “I understand your need to protect her, but I pose no threat to a champion of the innocent.”

Giles offered a small smile. “I’m sure if the time comes, all will come to light and you will understand why we must keep our secrets for now.” He noticed movement above and glanced up. Concern and unease balled in his stomach. Three ravens, flying out from the isle. _Maybe it’s a coincidence_ , he wondered. Even as he thought this, the truth rang deep: when it came to Buffy, it was never a coincidence.

“Elder Brother, do you receive penitents often?” he asked, turning his attention back to the other man. The boat gently rolled with a small wave as they neared the shore and Elder Brother carefully pushed himself to stand.

“Not often, no. Our numbers peak when there’s a feud or time of war.”

As Elder Brother left the boat, Giles’ stomach grew heavier still. Anyone could come to this place claiming they sought the Seven. It wouldn’t be the first time someone used faith for personal purposes.

Giles rose unsteadily, though he maintained his balance, and stepping onto a seat, he jumped to shore. He helped Elder Brother pull the boat up and retrieved his gear. He walked alongside Elder Brother, only half-listening as he wondered what these ill feelings could mean. He would have to remain vigilant until he could be sure of their safety.

When they arrived at the sept, little more than a half-mile from the shore, his attention was brought back to the present by Buffy’s bright, clipped laughter. He looked up in time to see Sandor Clegane blinking at a silent brother. The hooded brother gestured in a desperate manner, and Clegane offered no attempt to understand or assist him.

“Ah, Brother Edwyn. He struggles with his vow of silence,” said Elder Brother, explaining the odd scene.

Brother Edwyn wheeled his arms around and pointed to Buffy, grunting softly to somehow convey his meaning. Sandor’s scowl deepened, but he maintained his silence. Buffy waved to Giles when she saw him approach.

“I think I broke this one,” she said, laughter still sparkling in her eyes.

The Elder Brother put a hand to Edwyn’s shoulder. “Brother, we have granted sanctuary to Lady Beth and her companion, Brother Rupert. They are guests.”

Brother Edwyn let out a frustrated snort and dropped his hands, giving up on his fruitless miming. Instead, he said, “Gods be good. Forgive me, Elder Brother, but she is armed. She speaks of the Seven in such a way… Surely it is blasphemy!”

Elder Brother smiled benevolently and said, “It is not our place to judge those who seek the faith, Brother Edwyn. If you wish to do so, you may join the faith militant in King’s Landing.” Giles shot a look to Buffy, who shrugged, an innocent pout flickering across her face. His glare told her he would talk to her about it later, and she shrugged again.

“They said you might want this,” she said, offering the sheathed blade to Elder Brother. “I don’t really need it, I just like training with it.”

Elder Brother turned his attention to her, his smile widening. “My thanks for your offer, Lady Beth, though If you swear to maintain peace on the isle, I see no reason to withhold your weapon.”

“I can do that,” she said. Sandor snorted, but kept his opinion to himself as she happily strapped it back round her hips. “So where do I put my stuff?”

No one questioned her phrasing, but there was a pause as they all looked at her askance. Giles quietly let loose a long-suffering sigh. Elder Brother chuckled and pointed up the hill. “There is a guest cottage near the stables, my lady.”

“Alright," she said, then looked to Giles. "Let's go."

“My apologies, my lady, but Brother Rupert will sleep in the brothers’ barracks with the rest of the men,” said Elder Brother gently.

Buffy’s confusion was plain. “No, he stays with me,” she said. “I can’t protect him if he’s halfway across the island.” She looked to Giles. “ _Tell them_ ,” she hissed.

Before Giles could reply, wondering at what he could say to smooth the situation over, Brother Edwyn spoke up. “It is a sin to share rooms outside the marriage bed.” His opinion of her was evident in his sour tone.

Giles winced, looking to her apologetically, but instead of embarrassment, her face was flush with anger.

“Listen, _Brother_ ,” she said, poking the weasely man in his chest. “No one tells me who I can or cannot share a room with. Not you, not him –“ she pointed at Elder Brother, “- not even your gods.” Brother Edwyn took a step back, a hand pressed over his heart. “He is my friend, and where I go, he goes. If I want him in my cabin, then that's where he'll be. Got it?”

There was a tense silence as Buffy glared at the robed men. Brother Edwyn stared expectantly at the Elder Brother, a smug grin fighting at the corners of his lips. Elder Brother looked to Giles for some kind of assistance. None broke the silence, however, but Sandor Clegane.

“I’ll keep an eye on your man,” he said, nodding when Buffy turned her angry gaze to him. “No man here could best me, even with this bloody leg.”

“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself,” Giles muttered, resenting the infantilizing peace treaty.

Buffy ignored her watcher. “Just don’t let him get hit on the head.” Her face softened when she offered her hand and he wrapped his large fingers around her forearm. She mirrored the hold. “Thank you,” she added. Sandor nodded, they shared a single firm shake, then he released her.

Giles wondered what could’ve happened between the two on their short trip to the isle that Sandor Clegane, former sworn shield to a tyrant, would have such an obvious respect for his petite slayer. Not that he was surprised in the least. _She’s always earned loyalty with ease_ , he thought.

“Thank you, Brother Sandor,” said Elder Brother. Buffy huffed and turned on her heel. She stomped up the path to the cottage, muttering angry curses that should never fall from a lady's lips. Elder Brother cocked a brow at Giles.

“She has… an interesting way of speech.”

Giles sighed again. “You’re not the first to notice.” They watched her enter the cabin and then coalesced into the main hall of the sept. Giles needed information and there was no time better to start than now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, could you imagine this being clipped together with Buffy's boat trip. Too much, man. Too much. I had to split it up. Poor Giles, though. I can't wait for him to blow them out of the water. Strength isn't the only thing that can win a fight. XD  
> What the hell is happening, I broke 1000 hits before this thing's been up a week? You guys, you're making my heart all mushy. Such sweet comments, too!!


	9. Don't Hold Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy's first sparring match with Sandor.

Buffy and Giles fell into a routine with the silent brothers of Quiet Isle.   Though they would both assist with various chores, Giles’ focus was on studying the texts of the library as quickly as possible. Buffy helped on more challenging tasks when she could. They didn’t comment on her inexplicable strength or her unending energy.

It took a week for Sandor to acclimate to the habit of conversing again, though he remained silent around the penitents. “Don’t trust pious fuckers. They can’t all be good men,” he explained.

“You think they’re using the faith to go off the grid?” Buffy asked, her eyes following the men in the distance.

He looked at her a moment, understanding her meaning if not her words. “Aye, turncoats or worse. Elder Brother treats ‘em well, and one day it’ll come back on him.” Sandor sank onto a stool, taking a long pull from his waterskin as he dug the heel of his hand into his injured thigh. 

“Well he probably doesn’t have your history with liars, Sandor,” she said, turning from him and stepping into the cottage.  He leaned to the side, his eyes on her while she moved within the room, retrieving the tourney swords and shields. He’d finally agreed to spar with her, and she wanted to do so immediately.

“Why don't you fear me?” he asked.

“Why would I?” she retorted.

“Everyone fears me, girl. Even the holy Elder Brother.” He scowled and took another sip of water.

Buffy frowned slightly, glancing at him. “Well you’re supposedly a skilled fighter,” she said. “But I’ve fought worse, and I’ve already died twice, so maybe I'm jaded.”

His brow furrowed. “You get brought back by the fire god, too?” He spat at the ground, disgusted. “Doesn’t anyone stay dead anymore?”

Buffy came back out with her hands full, offering him a sword and shield. “I have no idea what that means, but no. No fire gods.” She paused, looking him in the eye. “And it’s Beth. Anyone can tell I’m a girl.” She put a hand to her chest. “Beth,” she said, then indicated him, saying, “Sandor.”

Sandor snorted and dropped the waterskin to the ground as he pushed himself up to his full height. “Fine, _Beth_. Let’s see what you can do with this blunted shit of a blade.”

They squared off, each with a wooden shield on one arm, swords poised. Sandor waited, watching her as they circled each other. Buffy moved in first, losing patience quickly, and their match began with the clang of metal on metal. The heavy sound of swords clashing carried down the hill, and soon silent brothers, Giles, and even Elder Brother had gathered outside the sept to watch the fierce duo trade blows.

Sandor was clearly a seasoned fighter – his sword was an extension of his body, and he had excellent strategy. She found herself pulling back in an effort to make it a fair fight, though it was much more challenging to do so.

He thrust his blade in a smooth attack that she awkwardly parried, rolling away from him at the last second. She hopped back and danced from foot to foot, a thin sheen of sweat shining on her face and neck.

“Are you holding back?” he growled, and he somehow managed to sound offended. “If I were any other fucker you’d be dead from your nancing about.”

Buffy scowled. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.

“I can take it,” he said, swiping at her. “Don’t think I’ll be doing the same for you.” With that warning issued, he swung the sword down, and Buffy just barely managed to get her shield up in time. Splinters flew but the shoddy thing remained intact.

“You asked for it,” she said, and with a huff, Buffy sprang into an offense the likes of which Sandor had never suffered before.

Though her maneuvers were amateurish at best, she attacked him with grace and speed, which helped keep him from reading her intentions. He kicked at her leg, but she dodged it and slammed her shield into his shoulder. He grunted and spun off, giving her room to look for an opening. Their swords slammed together again, and when the opening came, she made her move. With a swish of her blade, Sandor’s sword landed a good twelve feet away.

He looked from his blade – too far away to safely retrieve – to her readied stance.  Without warning, he ran at her, shield raised for a proper, rage-filled bashing. Buffy had just enough time to drop her sword and shield as she lowered her center of gravity. When he hit, she used his momentum and her strength to vault him over her shoulder. He landed sprawled on the flat of his back.

The air escaped his lungs, and it took an agonizing three seconds to draw sweet, cool air back in. When he next opened his eyes, her sword was at his neck. He blinked at her, surprise and grudging respect warring on his sweaty face. Buffy flung her blade away and bent slightly to offer her hand. He pushed it away, but she grabbed him and yanked him up.

“If anyone ever said… a little girl would best me in a match… I’d have gelded the bastard,” he rasped, still catching his breath. “But you did better than I thought you could.”

“Yeah well, it wasn’t easy,” she said. He gave her a surprised look, not expecting humility. “If you ever want to teach me something, I’d appreciate it.” She swatted at him with the back of her hand. “And I’m not a little girl.”

He barked out a harsh laugh. “I s’pose not, sending the Hound to his back. You dance around like the little wolf-bitch Arya Stark, though. Did you learn to fight from a greasy Bravvosi, too?”

“Giles taught me,” she said, reaching for the waterskin.

“Who?”

She froze for a second, a guilty expression flashing as she faced him. “Brother Rupert.”

“That old man taught you to fight,” he said, looking down the hill at Giles. “He looks like a bloody maester.”

“Stop it. He’s not that old,” she said. She paused, surprised with herself. “He taught me everything he could.”

“So he’s the reason you let your attacks be known,” he said, taking the waterskin from her. He dumped it over his head, splashing water over the top of his head. He ran his hand over his crown, sending it running down the burned side of his face. Though he could feel little of the ruined flesh, the water was cool.

“No, that’s definitely my fault,” she said, the playfulness gone from her voice. “I was stubborn. I didn’t train like I was supposed to.” She pouted, not liking the direction of the conversation. “Anyway, my training was more about hand-to-hand.”

He studied her, the mirth gone from him as well. “Why? They don’t let girls into tourneys, last I heard.”

She sighed and turned her back on him, frustrated. She couldn’t just tell him about vampires and Sunnydale. Giles would get mad, and then she’d have to figure out how to apologize. She’s never been good at that. “That’s a harder question to answer. I’ll tell you about it another day.”

As she bent to retrieve the swords, she noticed Edwyn watching them from the base of the hill. He disappeared around the edge of the sept when he realized she’d spotted him.

“I think we need to visit Brother Edwyn tomorrow,” she said quietly, looking up to meet his stormy gaze. She could see a hint of the Hound now – he looked different when he was angry. _Of course people would be afraid of someone who looks so murder-y_. “He was watching us.”

“Aye, he’s been watching since you arrived,” he said, turning his attention down the hill. “And he’s been here naught but a bloody week longer.”

Buffy’s brows shot up at that. “Then we definitely need to talk to him tomorrow.”

He nodded and strode away, leaving her to clean the weapons.

~~~~~~~~

Giles sighed and turned the page, trying to read past the growing headache. He found reading a chore now that he didn’t have pain relievers and tea to mask the symptoms. The same niggling of worry poked the back of his mind, and denial swooped in to save the day, carefully tucking his worry away so he could focus on the problem at hand. _You can worry about it later_ , he thought.

The door to the library swung open abruptly and Sandor stepped into the doorway.

“Brother Sandor,” Giles said in greeting. He wasn’t sure what else to say to the man, and so added, “Well done on your match with Lady Beth.”

Sandor snorted. “She whipped me like a kitchen boy.” He stepped into the room and looked about, clearly uncomfortable to be there. “Need to speak with you.”

“Of course,” said Giles. He marked his page with a strip of leather and followed Sandor into the yard outside the sept. “What can I –“

“Brother Edwyn is spying on the girl,” said Sandor. His voice was low and angry. “Any idea why?”

“Perhaps he’s an outlaw? Or… a bandit,” said Giles. Sandor nodded. “There were three ravens sent out the day we arrived. Would Edwyn have access to them?”

“Aye. As long as Elder Brother is away from the sept, any bugger could use the birds.” Sandor studied him. “Did you make enemies on the road?”

“We had to kill one man, unfortunately. I told the other to–“

“You let one live?” Sandor said, incredulous.

“I thought if they feared her –“

“They wouldn’t come sniffing at her fucking skirts?” Sander paced away, the familiar anger boiling inside of him. He turned back, glaring at Giles. “If people fear her, they’ll try to use her or kill her. Both, more like. May as well have sent a raven to every buggering House in Westeros.” He kicked a bucket, sending it sailing across the yard.

Giles’ shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes as he took off his glasses. He wiped his hand over his face, a weary sigh draining from him.

“If ever a plan could go disastrously wrong,” he muttered, then pushed his glasses back into place. He took a fortifying breath. “I will deal with Edwyn.”

“Not a bloody chance,” said Sandor. “Not before we find out what in seven hells is going on.” He glanced over his shoulder at Buffy, who was working on her drills again. “We have to go, now. She wants to fucking _talk_ to him tomorrow.” He looked back to Giles, his expression making it clear exactly how ridiculous the idea sounded.

“She isn’t –“ Giles paused and clamped his mouth shut, stopping his defense of her. _She isn’t ready to kill humans_ , he’d nearly said. _She still has faith in people, and I don’t want her to lose that part of her humanity._ “She still has much to learn,” he said instead.

Sandor eyed him a moment, seemingly aware that Giles was holding something back. “You coming?” he finally asked.

“Lead the way,” Giles replied. Sandor sniffed, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe, and headed toward the sleeping quarters. Giles followed, wondering how many men he would have to kill before they could return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all, I'm posting this early just in case I get too busy with work and homework tomorrow. I've been trying to consistently post a chapter a day, since this fic is basically my reward for getting shit done.  
> I really hope no one was expecting Sandor to have clean language because... um.. I love how foul and frank he is. Sorry not sorry on that front.  
> As usual, your comments astound me, and I'm still excited as hell to be working on this. Thanks for joining me on this wild ride. *heart eyes, man!*


	10. It's Not All Fun & Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interrogation is a difficult skill to hone.

They found him huddled in a storeroom, only slightly larger a closet, more than a little compromised.

“Good lord,” said Giles, turning his head away even as Sandor snorted. A startled, breathy gasp escaped from Edwyn before he pulled his robes over his groin. He glared up at them angrily, his cheeks flushed.

“Don’t grudge a man his needs,” Sandor said to Giles, spite lifting his unmarred cheek. “Hasn’t had a woman in at least a moon, I’d wager.”

“What do you want?” Edwyn demanded. He stood, adjusting himself back into his trousers. “Nothin’ better to do than spy on your brother?”

All humor left Sandor’s eyes and his grin twisted into something darker, angrier. He took a step forward, towering over Edwyn – while also blocking the doorway. “We could ask the same, lurkin’ about like her fucking shadow.” Giles gently closed the door. The only light filtered in from the dirty window near the roof.

Edwyn looked from Sandor to Giles, and back again, as the reality of the situation sank in. “I’ve done nothing. If she says I have, she’s bloody lying –“

Sandor snarled as he struck out, powerful and fast, knocking Edwyn over the side of the head like an errant child. He grabbed Edwyn by the neck and shook him hard enough to clack the little man’s teeth together. Sandor pinned him against the wall, his hand still wrapped around Edwyn’s throat. Edwyn, for his part, was thoroughly convincing in his terror.

Giles cleared his throat and stepped forward, his face expressionless. “We are rather more concerned with your communications, Brother Edwyn,” he said. “I recall three ravens leaving the rookery the day we arrived?”

Edwyn started to shake his head and Sandor squeezed the sides of his neck, a low growl of warning fluttering across the air.

“Yes, ravens were sent, but it weren’t –“

“If I smell a lie from your cunt mouth, I’ll cut out your tongue and shove it up your arse,” said Sandor.

Giles kept his expression flat and uncaring when Edwyn looked to him for reprieve. “We would like to know whom you wrote to, and what the messages contained,” Giles stated calmly.

The color had nearly drained from Edwyn’s face. His knees buckled beneath him and Sandor let him drop to the floor. Edwyn scrambled away, though there wasn’t really anywhere for him to go except further against the back wall of the room.

“Informants,” he said. “I was waitin' for orders. The clan wants her dead after what she did to Grenn.”

“I killed him,” said Giles. Should anyone have overheard his tone they would easily believe him to be discussing the weather, or offering a cup of tea. “He had a chance to live and chose to attack.”

“Rain said she lopped off his hand. With a blunt blade! In the middle of a fight,” said Edwyn, scoffing. “You expect me to believe a fucking septon killed the best fighter we had?” Sandor cast a glance to Giles.

“Yes,” Giles said, reaching inside his robe. He pulled the dagger from its sheath. “I severed his spinal cord, with this.” He tipped the blade back and forth. “He died before his blood touched the ground.”

Sandor scowled. “Too fast for the likes of these bastards. They’re shit, all of them.”

“I’ve been tortured, Brother Sandor. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone,” said Giles, earning him another look from Sandor. _So many revelations today_ , he thought. He sighed and drew his gaze back to Edwyn, hazel eyes meeting muddy brown. “Tell me where you sent –“

The storeroom door slammed open and all eyes swung to find Buffy in the doorway. She stepped in quickly and closed the door behind her. Where the room was only a mild discomfort before, it was cramped and almost claustrophobic with four people in the small space now.

“Beth, you should return to your rooms,” said Giles, lowering the dagger to his side. “You don’t to see this, my lady.”

Buffy glared at him. “Should I sew a pretty scarf, too?” Before Giles could correct her, she glanced Edwyn, who had visibly relaxed at the sight of her. “I said I wanted to talk to him, and you guys just go ahead without me?”

“Waste of time, talking to the likes of 'im,” said Sandor, scowling down at her.

Buffy huffed and rolled her eyes. “We’ll talk about subtlety later, asshat.” Sandor's mouth dropped open, ready to respond.

“Thank you for coming, my lady,” said Edwyn as he pushed himself to stand. Her lip curled, disgust trickling over her face.

“I’m not here to stop them,” she said. “I can do way more damage than these two put together.”

Edwyn betrayed himself – she saw him bite back a smile. She struck him faster than a cobra. The crack of her palm against his face was inordinately loud, and a livid red stain began to crawl across his cheek. When he raised his eyes again, the levity was gone from them.

“I heard about the informants, but where?” she said.

Edwyn stared at her a moment, then spat in her face. She held up her hand, stopping Sandor and Giles from moving in. She wiped her face with her sleeve and looked at the darkened spot a moment. Then she drew her eyes back up to him, the anger of a thousand angry slayers shining in her blue-grey depths.

“Sandor, do you mind starting on a new grave today?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he rasped.

“You won’t kill me,” said Edwyn, a hint of desperation coming through. “He said he’s the one who did Grenn in. You’re just a bitch in bloody trousers.”

Buffy winced, sucking air in her teeth. “Oh, sorry. No,” she said, not an ounce of apology in her tone. “I’m the slayer.”

She surprised him again with her speed. A hard hook at the base of his ribcage, followed by a swift jab to his upper chest. The crack of a rib, then a clavicle, echoed in the room before Edwyn sucked in a pained breath and sank to the floor.

“This time, you’re going to tell me where you sent those messages, or I’m going to have to hit you even harder.” She crouched down, resting her elbows on her knees. “See, I don’t have a problem hurting people who threaten my friends. I’ve roughed up plenty of people in my day.” She tapped his chin, forcing him to look at her. “So you can either tell me what I want to know, and only have two broken bones, or you can keep playing games, and I can break every single bone in your body.”

“Why should I…? Go on and… kill me, you bi-“ Edwyn winced, one hand wrapped around his chest. “Bitch,” he grunted.

She nodded, her lips settling flat.

“My ‘man’?” she said, nodding her head toward Giles. “He’ll kill you to keep me safe. He thinks I should be above killing people, or something.” She sighed, tilting her head to the side. “And at home, he’d be right. But this isn’t home, and I can’t risk our lives by being scared of death.” Buffy reached down and grabbed his booted foot, giving the appendage a swift twist. Bone popping against bone littered the quiet a mere second before Edwyn let out a gurgling scream. It died quickly as he sucked his lip into his mouth, bearing down through the new source of pain.

“But there’s like, I don’t know, twenty major bones, and another fifteen nerve clusters that I can hurt... and I can do it all before you pass out,” she said. “I don’t really want to, because I had plenty to do today, believe me,” she said with a breathy, sardonic laugh. “You know, I was planning on dealing with this tomorrow, when I wouldn’t be so pressed for time, but we live in an imperfect world.”

“You gonna talk him to death or get to the fucking point?” Sandor grumbled behind her.

“She talks with all of them. You get used to it,” said Giles, his tone falling back to its usual, long-suffering patience.

“We don’t all have size and reputation to rely on,” she said, flashing a glare over her shoulder at Sandor. She turned back to Edwyn, a smile back on her lips. “So, where did you send the messages?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder, just above the broken clavicle.

“Fuck off and rot,” he said. She leaned forward a little, applying pressure, and he grunted. His skin went a little paler, and sweat rolled lazily down his face.

“Where? I didn’t hear you.” When he shook his head, she looked to Giles, her palm open.  He handed the dagger over wordlessly, trying to ignore the groan of pain coming from Edwyn. Another groan of pain echoed in his mind, from a different time, trailing behind a cold voice saying colder words. _Tell me when it starts to hurt_. A spark of remembered pain seared into Giles' shoulder blade and he rolled his shoulder, pushing the memory away.

Buffy put the tip of the blade to Edwyn’s neck and trailed it down his chest, swishing it almost playfully across his belly, before she landed in the general vicinity of his crotch. “I’m only going to ask one more time, and then it’s going to get really unpleasant. Last chance.” She dipped it between the flap of his robe, resting the dagger beneath his balls. “Where did they go?”

Edwyn looked to Sandor and Giles, truly terrified again, and Buffy _tsk_ ed at him. “They’re not going to help you.” She pushed the point of the blade up and forward, ever so slightly, and Edwyn gasped, leaning back from her.

“The Eyrie, the fucking Eyrie,” he whispered desperately, wrapping his dirty fingers round her thin wrist. “And Winterfell and the Dreadfort, for true.”  Fury bubbled up inside Giles, though he didn't let it show. _Bloody Bolton and Baelish. Of course it would be the most underhanded men in the region_ , he thought, his mind racing.

Buffy looked up to Sandor, who nodded without a word.

“Okay, well, thanks,” she said, withdrawing the dagger. She broke his grip easily and stood, graceful as ever, to hand the dagger back to Giles. She dusted her hands and rested them on her hips. “That’s all I needed to know. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What are we to do with him?” asked Giles. “We can’t let him go.”

“I’ll deal with it,” said Sandor. He held his meaty palm to Giles, who once again handed over the dagger. Sandor glimpsed the conflicted concern on Buffy’s face and shook his head. “I’ll not kill him. Promised Elder Brother to keep the peace while I’m on the isle.”

“Me, too,” she said, biting her lip. “I don’t know if this really counts as keeping the peace.”

“It simply means there can be no murder,” said Giles, softly touching her shoulder. When she looked at him, he tipped his head towards the door. “I’m sure he can handle it.”

She nodded, casting a thankful look to Sandor before she opened the door and stepped from the room. Giles hesitated, letting her get ahead so she wouldn’t hear what he had to say next. “If you’re to let him live, let him never tell another secret.”

“What would you have me fucking do?” Sandor demanded, tired and grumpy. Everyone talked too much for his taste.

“Remove his tongue and his thumbs. Without them, he can’t send or tell a message, to anyone, ever again.”

Sandor met his gaze, surprise and respect flashing on his face before he gave a single, curt nod. Giles left them, closing the door behind himself. He closed his eyes when the muffled scream still managed to make it to his ears. _It’s not the last scream you’ll hear, old man. Best get used to it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo boy, that was a difficult one to write, but it's not even going to be the hardest thing I have to do, knowing the things I know about where this is headed.  
> Your comments and kudos send me over the moon! Seriously, y'all make me so fucking happy, literally every day. Just know that. Too happy.


	11. Considering Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little post-interrogation check-up.

Giles stepped outside, wincing against the setting sun. Buffy was nowhere to be seen, so he headed toward the sept. He made it to the clearing, and though the view was picturesque in its own way, his focus was drawn to another sight. Buffy was on her knees at the top of the hill. Her fists were wrapped in strips of cloth, and she pounded them into the ground with blind ferocity. It wouldn’t take much to guess at the bruised and bloody mess he’d find when he inspected her fists later.

He retrieved a jar of salve and some fresh bandages from the Elder Brother before heading up the hill. She was bracing herself on her fists, her head hung low as she worked to slow her breathing.

“Feel better?” he asked softly. She shook her head and dropped her weight, rolling so she flopped onto her back, her arms wide.

“I hate that feeling,” she said, and pulled an arm over her eyes. “The need to destroy. It's feels... hungry.”

Giles glanced at the divot in the ground, clumps of dry grass scattered about. The earth was packed down eight, maybe ten, inches. He lowered himself to the ground, seating himself near her head, and placed the healing supplies next to his hip. She lifted her arm slightly, eyes fluttering to the jar and bandages before looking back up to him. She dropped her arm back to her side and sighed as she looked up to the sky.

“The choices are only going to get tougher the longer we stay,” he said.

Her lips jutted in a little pout. “I know.”

“I can shed blood for our safety, Buffy,” he said next. He swallowed the lump trying to build in his throat. “You don’t have to do this to yourself.”

Her brow furrowed and she looked up to him, meeting his eyes upside-down. “What about you?”

“Killing people… it changes you,” he said, trying a different tack. “Look at how harsh Sandor is.”

She looked away again, her eyes floating back to the endless sky. “I don’t want to end up like Faith used to be. That’s all.” She sighed again, but kept her eyes forward. This needed to be said. “I don’t want my heart to turn to stone again. It took so long to feel right again, after… after.”

Giles nodded, lowering his eyes to his lap. “But this isn’t like with Glory,” she said, and his brows shot up as he looked back to her. “We’re not fighting a hell-god and an innocent boy. We’re in the middle of a war.” She looked up to him with a mock-glare. “Why couldn’t you be in the middle of Harry Potter?”

He snorted. _I finished those ages ago_ , he thought. Instead, he said, “I will keep that in mind the next time I ask assistance with a spell.”

“Hey, I didn’t prep the ritual room,” she retorted. “I didn’t even make a hokey pokey joke this time.”

His smile finally broke through his control, brief as it was. He sobered as he considered his next thought. “You never said you knew… about Ben.”

Buffy shrugged and looked away, trying to keep their conversation light. “I figured it was better that way. Why make you admit it? It needed to happen, and I was just. I was…”

“You’re a hero,” he said. She looked up to him, her face relaxing into a genuine smile.

“I’m not the only one,” she said, nudging his leg with the back of her small hand. He grinned, unable to fight the pride he felt at hearing such praise from her.

“So what are we to do with the information we’ve learned today?” he asked.

Buffy sat up and turned to face him, scooting forward until her knee touched his. She began carefully unwrapping her hands. Dirt, grass, and blood-caked mud fell from the dirty folds.

“We can’t stay here,” she finally said. “We can’t bring trouble to the few good people who live here.”

“Agreed. I haven’t found anything of use in their library,” he said, and held open his hand. She placed her hand in his, watching him as he inspected the broken skin and carefully moved the bones of her hand, looking for sprains or breaks. He put her hand down and motioned for the other to repeat the process. “We might consider finding out who received the messages, minimize the consequences.”

“Isn’t the Eyrie where Sansa went?” she asked. At his look, she added, “What? I paid attention.”

“I’m merely surprised at your attention to her,” he said, his eyes falling back on her hands. He released them and reached for the salve, deftly pulling the cork free from the top. “You’ll be fine, probably by tomorrow, but we have to be diligent about preventable diseases here.”

She made a small noise of acknowledgement. “Well, Sandor will want to see her. We should go there first,” she said, moving back on topic.

His eyes shot to hers, his brows up. “You think he’d wish to come with us?”

“When he finds out about Sansa? Yeah.”

“I’m not sure it’s quite so simple as that, Buffy,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“I don’t need the text to figure out the subtext here, Giles. Trust me.” She nudged his hand with hers, reminding him of his task. He carefully spread the salve among the various cuts of her knuckles and wrapped her hands in fresh bandaging. “I’ll figure out a way to bring it up tomorrow. Very casual.”

“Naturally,” he said, distracted.

“Giles?”

“Hmm?” When she didn’t speak further, he pulled his full attention to her. She seemed pensive, and he frowned in concern. “What is it, Buffy?”

“It’s been a while since I told you- Like, I only tell anyone when I’m scared, and it’s not –“

He stopped her rambling by shaking his head and cupping her small hands in his, a smile warming his face. “We tell each other in so many ways,” he said. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “We protect each other, and make each other laugh. We’re bonded like no other.”

She returned his smile, though a little lopsided. “Yeah.”

He smiled and gave her hands another small squeeze before releasing them and pushing himself to stand. She handed him the jar and let him walk down the hill, watching his figure duck into the sept, out of sight.

She bit at her lip and looked out over the landscape across the river. The mountains loomed at the horizon, their snowy peaks blending with the clouds seamlessly. “Yeah,” she said again, as if to console the heaviness in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buffy doesn't have enough distractions in Westeros - not yet, anyway. Poor Giles, the emotional marathon man. May as well confront her issues and figure out a game plan, right? ha!  
> PS I got the enhanced iBooks version of GoT so I'm pretty excited to access the glossary and house lore in there! Might be some of it coming through in future chapters. ^_^ much love as I go to work on the next chapter.  
> Edit: I intended to hold off on this conversation originally, but I can never resist a quiet moment between B&G. I'm a giant loser, but thanks for reading anyway!


	12. The Stranger's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much for that vow of peace.

In the dark hours of early morning, a distant cry of pain snuck into Buffy’s sleeping mind and her eyes snapped open, adjusting to the dark scant seconds before her door slipped open. The hulking shadow that entered could only be the Hound. She was out of bed and shoving her feet into boots when he spoke – so softly the average person may not have heard.

“Bandits. Bunch of cunt cowards, attacking at night,” he said.

“Giles?” she asked, equally soft.

“With Elder Brother, fitting the dead’s armor.” After a moment and a decidedly huff-like sniff, he added, “Good frame… for an old bastard.”

Buffy grinned but kept her thoughts to herself.   _Now isn’t the time to banter – wouldn’t Giles be proud?_ Instead, she suited herself up in her own mismatched armor. Sword at her side, bedroll and pack strapped on, and scrap leather she’d snagged from the tanning rack wound around her forearms for extra protection.

“You need proper gear ‘less you want to be cut to ribbons, girl,” he said, disgusted.

“You should see what I had when I landed here,” she muttered, ignoring the questioning noise he made. “Let’s go stop an invasion.”

“We’re not stopping anything,” he said, blocking her path. “I’m taking you to the dock and you’re fucking leaving.”

“No I’m _fucking not_ ,” she retorted, side-stepping his attempt to grab her ‘round the middle. “I’m not letting these guys get killed.”

“Don’t try me, girl,” he said, growling. “Get your arse to the boat or I’ll kill you m’self.”

Having enough, Buffy was in a full sprint before he’d turned around. “I told you, my name is Beth.” She let out a breath as she grinned at him over her shoulder. “And last I checked, I’m the better fighter.”

At the bottom of the hill, she kicked up a gardening hoe as she ran past the Elder Brother’s little garden, catching it clean as she pushed herself up against the wall to stay in shadow. The sleeping quarters’ roof was already ablaze, casting everything in a dim, dancing orange glow.

She leaned down and scooped up a palm-sized stone. When a bandit came into view, she chucked the rock past his head to clatter against the chicken coop. When he turned to look for the source of the noise, she was behind him, silently swinging. The hoe made a sickening _thud_ against his skull and he was down.

She grabbed his daggers and was shoving them into her boots when strong arms grabbed her by her stomach. Sandor slung her up into a fireman’s carry, grunting when her foot slammed into his injured thigh. A firm, wide palm slammed down on her backside, harder than she could expect. The _smack_ echoed against the close-knit stone walls.

“I warned you not to try me, _girl_ ,” he said through gritting teeth.

Buffy leaned forward and grabbed his belt, using it as an anchor. She pulled her legs from his grasp and flipped herself to land behind him. His responding growl was bestial but it didn’t deter her from running away, straight toward the bulk of the fray.  She slipped into the fight and deftly incapacitated five men before he’d arrived, sword raised.  Monks were carefully disengaging, a circle of astonished men growing as they watched the Hound and the Slayer lay waste to the attackers.

Buffy landed a stunning kick to the leader, knocking decaying teeth from his mouth in a gruesome spray of blood. She grabbed his wrist and twisted, snapping the ulna and radius as she ground the smaller bones of his wrist together. The clang of his blade couldn’t be heard over his scream.

 Sandor grabbed the man’s face cheek-to-cheek in one giant paw, pulling him up from the ground by his head.

“Are there any more?” he demanded. The bandit leader shook his head, though no noise escaped his lips save the grunt of pain as he tried to steady himself. Bloody spit dribbled onto Sandor’s palm. Sandor gave him a thorough shake. “And tomorrow?” 

Another shake of the head.

“Good,” said Sandor, shoving the man’s face away. He raised his sword high and slammed it down in a quick beheading. “Stranger fucking take you.” He leaned down and wiped the blade and his hand on the man’s still-twitching corpse. The head lay on the ground, gawking at its body’s last seconds.

The air was acrid with smoke, blood and shit.  Buffy did a quick pass, finding only two dead monks, and another two injured. All-in-all, not bad considering the blitz attack. 

Sandor was approaching her, shoulders and jaw tensed with obvious rage, when a clang rang from the main chapel.

“Giles!” she said, eyes wide, and she sprang into a full run, disappearing between two small buildings. Her footing slid along the pebble path, but she kept her pace.  She rounded the corner to see Giles cutting down a powerful blow on a bandit. Two others lay at their feet, but the fight was still going strong.

Sandor stomped past her and slammed full-body into the bandit, preventing a potentially deadly slice with his dagger. The bandit landed hard and rolled, dropping the dagger to keep from stabbing himself. Before the man could see who else had entered the fight, Sandor slammed his foot down onto the bandit’s throat, snapping his neck with ease.

“Jesus Henry,” breathed Giles, dropping his sword to the ground.  He shoved the back of his hand across his forehead, brushing sweat-slick hair away. A streak of dirt was left behind.

 _Wait_. Buffy squinted, then sniffed the air. _That’s… blood_.

She was on him in a matter of seconds. Giles sputtered, trying to swat her away, but she shoved his hands back and grabbed his temples, swiping her fingers over the crown of his head.

“Where the hell is it coming from?” she said, her mouth grim and tight.

“Where is wha-“ Giles caught sight of his hand, and realization clicked into place. “Buffy.” He gently grabbed her wrists and pulled them down, his voice the low and careful tone he used to soothe her anger. “Buffy, it’s not my blood.”

Slowly, her face relaxed. She moved to speak, but was interrupted by a massive grip landing on her arm, tearing her from Giles’ grasp and whirling her around to an irate Sandor Clegane.

“Shut your fucking mouths and get to the boat!”  Spittle sprinkled his beard and nearly sprayed Buffy in the face. To her credit, she didn’t flinch.

“Well, you don’t have to be a dick about it,” she said softly, pulling herself free. “Are you coming, or do I have to yell curses to get you on the boat, too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I'm aware it's been a while. I'm sorry guys, I am working and in school full time so.. I will try to cash in on this creative writing bug while I have it. I do have plans for this story, so please don't give up on me, or be too mad at me. XD I know it's agony when updates take too long.


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